new to DVD: Dracula Untold

Every generation has its Dracula. For some, it's Bela Lugosi. For others, it's Christopher Lee. When I was a kid, I alternately associated Count Dracula with Lugosi -- due not to the original film, but due to Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein -- and, of all people, Judd Hirsch, who played the character for laughs in The Halloween That Almost Wasn't. Since 1992, my idea of Dracula has always been dominated by Gary Oldman, due to the excellent, now underrated Coppola/ Hart version of the character in Bram Stoker's "Dracula."

With the exception of Sherlock Holmes, Dracula has been portrayed on screen more times -- and by more actors -- than any other fictional character. So by now, it may seem like every possible variation of the character has been presented. Perhaps this was the motivation behind the title of Dracula Untold, which, if not entirely original in concept (in a way, it's almost like a feature-length version of the prologue to the Coppola/ Hart film) at least offers a take never presented before in quite such a fashion.

Dracula Untold presents Dracula as a devoted father, a loving husband, a fearsome warrior (even before he is turned), a brilliant military leader, and a ruler who truly cares for the safety of his subjects. That he is also a vampire is not second to these other aspects of his character, but only one side of the man.

It's the 15th Century, and and the principality of Transylvania and Wallachia shares an uneasy truce with the Turkish Empire, which has already conquered much of the region: Prince Vlad is allowed to rule with autonomy, as long as he makes regular tribute to his "brother," the sultan who rules the Turkish Empire. (Sultan Mehmed and Prince Vlad are not related by blood, but, according to this story, anyway, were raised together in Turkey). This tribute usually comes in the form of treasure chests filled with silver coin, but the story is set into motion when the Sultan one day makes an additional demand: 1,000 Romanian boys of varying age to be "voluntarily" handed over to the Turkish Army, to be raised, trained, and eventually employed as soldiers. Vlad and his subjects are horrified by this demand, but because the Turks already have an army far better trained and highly outnumbering the Romanian army, the Romanians reluctantly agree to the Sultan's demand.

But when the Sultan makes a further demand that Vlad personally hand his son over as one of the recruits, Vlad cannot bring himself to comply. Interestingly, he almost complies, but the small group of soldiers sent to take Vlad's son make the mistake of mocking Vlad in front of his family, and Vlad kills them.

So now, Vlad has saved his son, but committed an act of war against the Turkish Empire, a far, far more powerful enemy. How can he protect his people from the Sultan's retaliation? In desperation, Vlad turns to the mysterious creature that resides in the caves of Broken Tooth Mountain. "I know not what it is," Vlad reasons, "but I know it kills Turks."

The creature in the cave, of course, turns out to be a vampire. It may even, in fact, be the very first vampire, if the origin tale it tells to Vlad is to be believed. The creature, compellingly, excellently played by Charles Dance, strikes a Faustian bargain with Vlad: It can give Vlad all the powers of a vampire for three days, and if Vlad can last that long without succumbing to a vampire's natural thirst for blood (he can spill as much blood as he likes, he just can't drink any) he will have the option of returning to human form again. However, if he drinks blood even once during those three days, he will remain a vampire forever.

About that bargain: The Master Vampire (as he is listed in the credits) played by Dance may ostensibly seem like a villain, but considering how much he has to gain if Vlad fails his challenge (I won't explain exactly what, as I have to leave some details for you to discover), he is remarkably honest and forthcoming. The Master Vampire freely admits that despite all of the power that comes with it, he sees vampirism as a curse. He even sees the immortality that comes with vampirism as a curse. Vlad accepts, of course, not because he doesn't believe the creature's warnings, but because he believes he will have the moral strength to resist the blood-thirst.

I liked this movie, but I also see its chief weakness: It's the type of movie that will highly entertain its viewers, but will also inspire many of those same people who enjoyed it to later go online and complain about it, to mock it with hypocrtical abandon. Why? Because the story, by Matt Sazama and Burk Sharpless, is compelling, but melodramatic. Because, as depicted by director Gary Shore, the nature of Vlad's supernatural abilities is visually creative and exciting to look at, but doesn't hold up to logical scrutiny -- even by fantasy standards -- if over-analyzed after the movie is over. Because Dracula is here presented as one part action hero and one part bodice-ripping costumed lover -- a combination that undeniably works as you watch it, but leaves you feeling silly afterward for daring to admit to yourself that you enjoyed the ride. My prediction: History buffs will top the list of the hypocrites. They will thrill to the fact that the movie uses actual history of Vlad the Impaler -- turning the real-life figure of Mehmed into a central character, and depicting historical events such as the Night Attack of Targoviste as plot points -- but those same would-be historians will then nitpick and whine about creative license, as if one should expect documentary realism from a Hollywood action flick.

Let me tell you: Dracula Untold, if taken in the right spirit, will be experienced as a fun movie, made by unfamiliar names with obvious talent and skill at their craft. The "in" thing will be to say that you didn't like it. But I think you probably will.

new to DVD: Fury

There's a scene somewhere around the mid-point of Saving Private Ryan in which the story's heroes, notably including the usually calm and decent army captain played by Tom Hanks, let their anger get the better of them, and they decide to break the rules of war by killing an unarmed German soldier who has already surrendered and is now begging for mercy. The only person with a strong objection to this plan (other than the German soldier, of course) is the naive young rookie soldier who hasn't seen any combat yet. Effectively, poignantly, and powerfully, the scene illustrates how the horrors of war can motivate even good men to do terrible things even when unnecessary.

Fury, a more recent action drama about a small group of World War II soldiers, features a nearly identical scene, but in this case, it's much closer to the beginning of the film. The filmmakers of Saving Private Ryan wanted to make sure that you grow to care for and identify with the film's heroes so much that, by the time you get to the "let's kill 'im!" scene, your horror is more than balanced by at least an understanding of what has led Hanks and the others to this psychological point. By contrast, Fury director/ writer David Ayer would rather challenge his viewers right off the bat; his "kill 'im" scene occurs so early that we barely know the soldiers who are committing this heinous act. Where should our sympathies lie? With the American soldiers who are breaking the law and victimizing the unarmed man? Both our sense of nationalism and our knowledge that these men will be the heroes of the story seem to indicate that they are the ones we should sympathize with, but Ayer is, intentionally, not making it easy for us. He even stacks the moral cards against the "heroes" yet further by having the leader force the naive young soldier do the killing, against the poor young man's horrified, strenuous objections.

The story begins mere seconds after the sudden end of a brutal, harrowing (and unseen by the audience) skirmish in 1945 Germany -- a skirmish whose casualties include Red, the assistant driver of the Sherman tank "Fury." The rest of Fury's crew are left irritable, shaky, and in a borderline panic. They return to an Allied camp, but after only a few minutes' rest, they are immediately handed a new mission, and a new assistant driver. Their new driver, Norman Ellison (Logan Lerman), is innocent, naive, young, fresh out of training, and wholly unqualified for the position; he's got no training in tanks at all, and his only previous position in the Army was as a clerk.

Fury sets off on its next mission, and we get to know the rest of the crew: There's bible-thumping Boyd "Bible" Swann (Shia LaBeouf), Mexican-American Trini "Gordo" Garcia (Michael Pena), redneck bully Grady "Coon-Ass" Travis (Jon Bernthal), and the leader of the crew, Sergeant Don "Wardaddy" Collier (Brad Pitt).

You can't fault the performances, or David Ayer's direction, but, doubling as the movie's scriptwriter, Ayer does paint himself into a corner when it comes to the depiction of the characters: Because you know that these are the heroes of the story, you find yourself really wanting to like these characters, no matter how many times they challenge that desire. Yet some of them are so defined by simple characteristics that Ayer's dilemma is that the movie gets to a point where any change in character would no longer come across as natural character development, so much as jarring inconsistency. Take Grady, for example. I referred to his character as a "redneck bully," and for much of the film, Ayer takes this concept of the character to such an extreme, that you start to view Grady as an all-out villain. Then, when he eventually says something heart-felt and sensitive, it doesn't feel like, "ah, another side to the man!" Instead, it just feels like, "this guy would never say that!"

Another example is the rookie solider, Norman. He is repeatedly both depicted and explicitly described as gentle and idealistic. These are excellent qualities in a civilian, but not in a soldier, and while his personality is endearing, we also want to see him develop some courage and become a better soldier. Yet eventually, when he is given the chance to do this, it's really a no-win situation for both Ayer as a writer and us as viewers: If Norman does "man up" it comes across as unrealistic, if he doesn't, he comes across as a coward.

The movie constantly invites comparisons to Saving Private Ryan. I've already noted the remarkable similarities in both one specific scene and character dynamic (a small group of war-weary soldiers suddenly having to deal with a rookie soldier in their midst), but it's much more than that. From the visually frank and graphic carnage of the battles and their aftermath, to the cinematography, which is identical to Spielberg's film (the same muted color scheme that makes even bright sunny days somehow seem cloudy), Fury almost seems less like an independent entity, and more like an intentional companion piece to Private Ryan.

Many people, myself included, consider Saving Private Ryan to be a masterpiece, and, held up to that particular bar, Fury does fall short. But if you can get past the comparison -- and it is a challenge, no two ways about that -- Fury does have a lot to offer. Yes, I've noted some drawbacks to Ayer's character development, but when it comes to scene work, some sequences of Fury are just pure gold. Legendary director / writer Howard Hawks once said "a good movie is three good scenes, and no bad ones." By that standard, at least, Fury is an excellent movie.